


on the edge of the prairie

by DropshipMyths



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Prison, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22424188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropshipMyths/pseuds/DropshipMyths
Summary: Bellamy is in jail for a serious crime and receives a visit from Clarke.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 181





	on the edge of the prairie

Clarke blinked to clear the bright sun from her eyes as she stepped into the deep shade of the prison. It was nearly 85 degrees in Arkadia, Missouri. Her long, yellow-and-white checked dress wasn't doing much to keep her cool despite the light fabric. She wiped a glimmer of sweat from her brow with the back of her hand.   
  
"Miss Griffin, it's a pleasure I'm sure," Sheriff David Miller stepped forward to greet her.   
  
"Hello, sir. Lovely to see you too. My mother was just sayin' she couldn't wait to have you 'round for dinnuh. Please say you'll come soon. She makes peach cobbler for guests." Clarke fluttered her eyelashes and tilted her head just so with a winning smile. She hoped her cherry red lipstick completed the gesture nicely.   
  
"Humph," a slow grin spread across the man's mouth. "Your mother does make the best cobbler in the whole county, that's for sure. Enough blue ribbons at the fair to prove it."   
  
"That's right, sir."   
  
A tiny trickle of sweat crept between Clarke's breasts, but she tried not to shift or move. Instead her clear blue eyes followed Miller's brown hand to his belt where he adjusted his pistol.   
  
"And I've got some business to discuss with your stepfather."   
  
"Nothing serious I hope?" Clarke feigned interest. With Marcus Kane - the county's top attorney - as her new stepfather, she heard enough about criminal matters at the dinner table as it was.   
  
"Nothing to worry your pretty head about, darlin'. Just some ruffians skirting 'round the town's border. Happens often enough in the summer as the crops start coming up."   
  
"I see," Clarke straightened her back. "I'm sure you and your men will keep us as safe as evuh."   
  
Miller just smiled back. A silence stretched between them for several seconds broken only by the clicking of an old wooden clock hung on the wall of the entryway. "Now you're here wantin' to see Mr. Blake, is that right?"   
  
Clarke bit her lip and saturated her voice with the honey accent she only used when speaking to her mother's high-falutin friends. "If it's quite convenient."   
  
"I don't know 'bout convenient, but it is planned, and I know how to uphold my duties, ma'am. I expect the boy'll be happy to see you."   
  
Clarke nodded and stepped to the side wall when Miller gestured her over to it.   
  
"You know I hate having to do this to the ladies," he said apologetically before beginning to pat down her frame.   
  
Her heart began to beat more rapidly. She hoped he couldn't tell. The small box was nestled deep in her cleavage, but there was still a chance his fingers would creep too close. She let her breath go in tiny amounts through her teeth when his hands paused at patting her rib cage before moving on to her back.   
  
"All right, Miss Griffin, I'll call the guard to bring you on through to Blake's cell."  
  
Clarke's eyes widened in surprise at the words. It had only been a pipe dream, really. Nothing she ever expected would actually happen. Every time she'd seen Bellamy over the three years, it had always been in the sad-looking common area used for visiting friends and family with the dilapidated furniture. This was meant to be her last visit, though only she knew that. He surely didn't. Her belly fluttered with excitement at the thought of how infectious his grin would be when she told him he was finally going to be sprung out of this hellhole two years early. Kane had interceded with his best friend, Governor Jaha, to commute the sentence, and for that she would always be thankful.   
  
"Sir?"   
  
Miller raised an eyebrow at her, showing her the way toward the dank hallway lit only by a few flickering kerosene lamps.   
  
"Your stepfather pressed Judge Shumway about the unique circumstances present here. The judge reckoned since you're hell bent on marrying the boy, he could make an exception for this last visit. Blake's followed orders, helped dig the wells and taught the other men to read. Good behavior gets a good deed it would seem. There are precedents set for wives seeing their husbands in jail in a more private setting." He cleared his throat and looked away awkwardly. "Regardless, three years is a long time."   
  
Clarke stuttered a laugh and said, "thank you, sir, truly" before walking into the gloom. A door at the other end of the narrow hallway opened, revealing the muscular build of the Sheriff's son, Nathan.   
  
"Miss Griffin," he nodded respectfully in her direction.   
  
"Mr. Miller," Clarke hummed in turn.   
  
If there was ever a day that her lucky stars had aligned, this was surely it. Nathan had been kind and quiet when they were children. They'd played together on the open plains out past the general store, searching for lizards and keeping track of when the good hard candies were delivered from back East. He was more steeled now, he'd seen things, surely, but there was still a great degree of common decency in his bones.   
  
They walked quickly past the line of cells. It was much cooler in this part of the prison, half-underground as it were, and Clarke did her very best to stay right behind the guard in the center of the aisle as a few arms reached out through the bars.   
  
"Hey, blondie! Wouldja give me a kiss?"   
  
"I'd ruther squeeze those melons."   
  
"Careful," called still another, "Blake's the only one who gets his hands on her."   
  
Clarke flushed crimson at the crudeness, and Miller abruptly pulled out a thick stick and ran it menacingly along the bars where it created a crash of sound.   
  
"Away from the bars, dip shits!" he hissed.   
  
They turned a sharp corner and walked down a barren stretch of wall to the sole cell in an alcove on the left. The click of Clarke's heels gave her away, and Bellamy was already staring at her with wide, dark eyes when she materialized in front of the bars. The sight of him took her by surprise. His hair was longer and shaggier than she'd seen it last time, curling away at the tips. He had something of a beard too, but at least his white cotton T-shirt looked clean. Her heart clenched at the emotion in his eyes. He stared at her like she'd fallen from the stars.   
  
"You're here," he said in quiet disbelief.   
  
She smiled, reminded herself that this was a happy occasion to stave off any renegade tears, and nodded. Miller turned the key with a loud click and jerked his head in the direction of the cell. "You all have one hour. I'll be around the corner. I'll come when you call."   
  
"Thank you, Nathan."   
  
She slipped into the cell and heard the bars clang shut behind her. The next moment, the unmistakable sound of a turning key clicked. Bellamy appeared too shocked to move, and Clarke waited until Nathan's shadow slipped around the corner before she dared take a step forward. But once in motion, she couldn't help herself. It had been eight weeks since their last visit - an unbearable separation. Lifting her long, yellow skirt, she propelled herself into Bellamy's lap, nestling the tip of her nose into the crook of his shoulder. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist after a moment's pause. He smelled like simple soap. The crush of her chest against his reminded her of his gift as it stabbed into her soft skin.   
  
"Princess," he hummed into her ear, rocking forward and back with the gentlest motion. His new facial hair scratched at her cheek when she drew back. The smile greeting her was positively lazy amazement, full of his white teeth. "How did you pull this off?"  
  
Clarke blinked fast. "It wasn't me," she insisted. "I'm just as surprised as you. Kane put in a good word with Shumway and," she shrugged, "here I am."   
  
Bellamy let out a grunt of surprise. "Damn."   
  
A half-laugh flew from her lips before she crashed them into his. They were soft and welcoming but not enough. Clarke nipped at his mouth, forking her fingers into his thick locks and moaning softly when he opened to her. They moved quickly and desperately, Bellamy's calloused palm hot on her waist and her shifting her face to leave small kisses along his cheek and jawline when her breath grew ragged.   
  
"I missed you," he murmured against her forehead before resting his lips there.   
  
"I always miss you." Her hands tightened on his biceps when she pulled back and realized his focus was no longer on her face. The attention made her flush up her neck. He poked at the skin there, teasing her.   
  
"Right," she said more to herself than to him. "I have something for you."   
  
"You do, huh?"   
  
Clarke hummed agreement. Very slowly she moved a hand to the top pearly button under her collarbone and popped it open. Bellamy watched her fingers tremble lightly. Blackness swam into his eyes and gave her the courage to continue onto the next three buttons. The beige lace of her newfangled bra was becoming visible. She could hear Bellamy's heavier breaths.   
  
"I hope you like it."   
  
"I'm sure I will."   
  
He reached up and tucked a few strands of her blonde hair that had unwound from her braid back behind her ear. His other hand kept rubbing up and down her thigh. It was driving her mad.   
  
"You can, uh..." she hesitated for a moment, swallowing loud. "You can reach in and get 'em if you want."   
  
Surprise washed over Bellamy's face. "You really hid something in there?"   
  
"Uh-huh."   
  
He braced his palm at the flare of her hip and squeezed before reaching inside the top of her dress, eyes on hers. His fingertips against her skin were like fire. She had a wild urge to bare herself to him in this dingy hollow. But then the cigarette pack was rising up, and Bellamy was smirking at her.   
  
"That was mighty nice of you." He placed them on the side of his bed. "But how did you come by them?"   
  
"Helped set the leg of a drifter passing through town when he got bucked off his horse. It was part of the repayment."   
  
"Huh. Well thanks, Princess."   
  
Goosebumps rose up on her arms, the memory of the first time he called her that flooding back.

_He was the new schoolteacher from Virginia, in over his head with a rambunctious group of prairie kids of all ages. Little Charlotte had fallen during recess, cutting herself up pretty bad on a sharp rock jutting out of the field. Her mother was off attending to the Lemkins on account of their new baby boy, so it was Clarke whom Jasper found at the small family practice on Main Street when he'd burst in carrying Charlotte in his arms. She'd cleaned up the girl's wound with a few simple stitches and bandages. To calm her after, they'd sat together beside the vegetable garden patch at the end of the street and built flower crowns from determined weeds. They were both wearing them when Clarke walked her charge back to the schoolhouse a half hour later. __  
  
"Do I owe you thanks for fixing up Charlotte, Princess?" he'd asked from the doorway he leaned against, holding up his hand to block out the hot sun.   
  
"It was my pleasure," she'd smiled up at him. He was beautiful - it was her first thought. Tall and fit with a smattering of freckles over bronze skin and a grin that came as quick as a gust of wind.   
  
"My mother raised me to always repay a favor," Bellamy called out as Charlotte carefully climbed the four steps into the schoolhouse. Her heart melted when she watched the young girl hug him around the middle and his answering pat on the back and wink. "Run along inside and let's go back to your multiplication tables, hmm?"  
  
The teacher turned back to Clarke. "Can I take you to Murphy's Canteen for dinner sometime?"   
  
Clarke tilted her head back, feeling her sunbonnet loosening around her blonde waves. He looked so earnest.   
  
"Yes," she said at last. "That would be nice."   
  
And it was. Four nights later, he took her out for Arkadia's finest chicken fried steak, vegetables and mashed potatoes served on a red-and-white checkered tablecloth. Bellamy talked a lot with his hands she noticed - they were large - telling her about the mother and newly married sister he'd left back home and how he liked to map the constellations at night. When their knees knocked under the table, she found she didn't want to move away.   
  
He let her borrow some of his books after that; she delighted at the few botanical volumes she discovered in his collection, claiming they'd help her make medicines. Soon Bellamy started walking Clarke home from the Griffin medical office when he could get away from Charles Pike's farm. He helped with the apple harvest there for extra money. She liked the way the sunset brought out the amber flecks in his eyes and how he chewed on long bits of hay to make her laugh during those evenings.   
  
When the county fair unfolded its tents and popped up its games, Clarke accepted Bellamy's invitation to go. It sent a warm jolt through her veins when she could wrap her hand against the crook of his elbow, staying close in the crowd. He won her a simple star-and-moon silver charm bracelet by hitting a mallet hard enough to ring a bell. Later, she told him she'd love to paint the billowing grasses and rolling hills of their home as they observed it from near the top of the Ferris wheel.   
  
The air was warm and oppressive that night when they left. She was elated, the sweet taste of popcorn still lingering in her mouth and her charm bracelet jangling on her wrist. It was easy to let Bellamy push her against the rough wood wall of the saloon to steal a kiss. In fact, she'd wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him in close to continue.  
  
But neither of them had anticipated a drunk Paxton McCreary and his taunts that if Clarke looked like that he might as well have a piece of her. They hadn't expected the man to grab at her or twist her arm behind her back. The shove he aimed at Bellamy's chest when he tried to step between them. Bellamy used words first, but then the miscreant drew a sharp switchblade from his pocket and trailed it lazily around the outline of her neck as she gasped for air in his grip.   
  
Clarke's only hint something was about to happen was the tick of Bellamy's jaw and brief clench of his fist. In a flash, she was free and the two were brawling in the dirt, cursing with fists flying as Bellamy pummeled the man over and over, blood spattering everywhere. The coroner said between the drink and the blows to the head, there was never a chance Paxton would've survived.   
  
Bellamy, her Bellamy, was a murderer. _  
  
"Hey, where'd you go?" Bellamy stroked her cheek like it was fine satin.   
  
Clarke readjusted herself in his lap, running a hand down his chest. He managed to stay fit with all the manual labor they made him do.   
  
"Was thinking about how I first met you."   
  
His shoulders slumped, and she knew he saw daisy flower crowns in his mind's eye. Probably felt the prairie wind on his face.   
  
"That was a long time ago. I was different then," he grunted.   
  
"Not so long."   
  
"Three years."   
  
She hated the rebuke in his tone, like she was foolish to care for him enough to wait.   
  
"It wouldn't matter to me if it were three more."   
  
He lifted her at the waist then and set her down on her feet before rising up beside her. She liked how he was taller, broader, simply bigger than her.   
  
"You know I don't want this life for you, Princess. Waiting for a scoundrel like me. You deserve better."   
  
"Too bad, Blake. You're the only one I want. Besides," she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Looks like I don't have to wait anymore." 

***

It might have been involuntary, the way his hand reached out to take hers. She slotted their fingers together anyway. His face lightened for a moment.   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
This was it. The moment of truth. Clarke drew in enough air to fill her lungs.   
  
"Governor Jaha reduced your sentence to three years, Bellamy. You're getting out!"  
  
He was stunned, stock still except for his fingers gripping hers. And then he let out a strangled cry mixed with laughter, tears welling in his eyes. Caught up in his reaction, Clarke jumped into his arms, and he caught her, spinning her around in the small cell where there was just enough room for her boots not to scrape the walls.   
  
Her hands found their way to the back of his neck and her thighs clung to the sides of his waist. When her back hit the scratchy grey stone, she pressed into it, returning Bellamy's feverish kiss and jolting at the feel of his hot hands where he supported her.   
  
He was kissing the hollow of her neck while she arched to give him more space when he stilled. Her chest heaved noticeably in the dim light, her lip color thoroughly smudged off.   
  
"Sorry, sorry," he panted. "I'm taking liberties. You're a lady. I can't forget that."   
  
He moved to put her down, but she stopped him with a tight hand on his sinewy forearm.   
  
"It's not liberties if I'm to be your wife."   
  
Bellamy blinked at her, disbelief flashing in his eyes.   
  
"It's an old promise, Clarke. I wouldn't hold you to it."   
  
She narrowed her sharp blue eyes, a crease appearing between her brows.   
  
"Hold me to it." Her palms ran up and down the tops of his shoulders to calm him down.   
  
"You still want to marry a criminal like me?"  
  
She leaned forward so her lips were near his ear.   
  
"I'd marry you if you killed 300 men twice over."  
  
Bellamy let out a strong sigh.   
  
He dropped her delicately to her feet. "I don't deserve your forgiveness."   
  
"Forgiveness isn't about deserving, Bellamy." He was close enough that she benefitted from the body heat rolling off him. "You saved my life that night. Who knows what would've happened if you hadn't been there."   
  
His hands braced at her waist, and she moved her own carefully back up to his shoulders so as not to spook him. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat," he admitted.   
  
The deep truth of the statement took root in her spirit. She smirked at him a little. "You know I'm as stubborn as you."   
  


Their mouths pressed together again, but it felt different. Bellamy held her tight to him with his hands spanning her lower back. Like a wanton, she rubbed her hips against his because the taste of him wasn't enough. A dull ache was settling low in her stomach. To her surprise, Bellamy didn't push her away. She gasped into his mouth when instead she felt him harden against her. His hands ventured lower to the curve of her ass as if to test her.

  
"I want to touch you, sweetheart." Bellamy mouthed at her neck. "I know it's wrong and we should wait. This isn't really the place, but... my God, you're stunning."   
  
Suddenly the creak of a shoe against a floorboard brought Clarke back to the reality of their location. There was a cough, and then the noise died. Nathan right around the corner, listening to what he'd know was an abomination without a ring on her finger to sanctify it. She drew back even as Bellamy groaned and saw the richness of his expanded pupils.   
  
"I know you've missed a woman's touch, Bell," she lowered her voice to more of a whisper.   
  
"But..." He knew her so well.   
  
She shuffled her feet and glanced down at the red patches forming on her neck and over her chest from his attention to the skin there. "We can't... here," she emphasized the last word with the point of her finger toward the floor. “It’s unseemly.”  
  
Bellamy shook his head. "We can do whatever the hell we want. I don't want to wait anymore." Two of his fingers lifted her chin up. "Do you?"   
  
Of course she didn't. She burned for him. But she was also terrified of what her mother referred to as "wifely duties." She knew it would hurt, could lead to children. That they should be married. Yet her body felt compelled to stay close to his at every given opportunity. The thoughts all jumbled together in her mind, and she was only freed from them when Bellamy reached down and cupped her.

"Will you let me have you, Princess?" She sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers pushed away her the thick cloth of her undergarments. A tremble stole up her spine. He never asked for anything for himself.

"Of course," she agreed. "I'll give this to you."

***

Bellamy grinned at her, pushing a finger into what felt like an impossibly tight place, causing her nails to fly up and imbed themselves in his shoulders.   
  
"You’re ok," he leaned in to kiss her temple, then her cheek.   
  
His hand was gentle on her, building up a slow rhythm before finding a sensitive place with his thumb. Her knees nearly buckled. Dampness trickled out of her while heat spread everywhere. He encouraged her with sweet murmurings that didn’t stick in her brain. Bellamy kissed away her whimper when a second finger joined the first. There was mild pain at first but strange jolts of pleasure at every flick of his thumb over the tissue nestled in her curls.   
  
The kisses calmed her heart rate. Bellamy teased at a nipple, and her spine arched against him. Something was building, swelling low in her hips though she had no name for it. There was only the soap smell of Bellamy, her fingers gripping the neckline of his shirt and a flash of freckles before her eyes.  
  
"I love you.” That one she heard.   
  
When the force ripped through her body, it left her weak and clinging to him. He lifted her under her knees and laid her carefully on his narrow, creaking straw mattress. Her arm was thrown over her eyes from the fatigue, but she could still see him through her half-opened lids.   
  
"How was that?"   
  
"Delightful."   
  
Shaking his head and tucking it low in an attempt to hide his amusement, Bellamy kicked off his boots and pulled his shirt over his head. Next he popped open his pants button and slid the fabric down his muscular thighs. She felt his gaze on her skin, hot and prickling. 

"Unbutton your dress, but keep it on," he ordered, voice a little gruff. "Take off everything else."   
  
She hurried to obey him, knocking the cigarettes to the floor in her haste. She fought with the clasp of the damned bra she'd just bought. When she lay down on her back, she saw a flash of blue sky through the tiny window near the ceiling of the cell. And then her vision was full of Bellamy's tan chest looming over her. She reached up to kiss him, rolling up into the stone thigh between her legs without thought.  
  
"I'll try," she told him from swollen, rose lips. "I'll try to make it good for you.”

“Sweetheart, you’re already perfect for me.” Bellamy beamed at her. “Can't believe you're really gonna let a criminal touch you,” he teased. His fingertips skimmed across her stomach.

“You know I’d let you do whatever you wanted.”

She heard him choke on his swallow and felt pleased with herself. Bellamy shook the hair out of his eyes, recovering soon enough.  
  


He asked her to touch him but must have seen the confusion in her eyes because he pressed his comforting weight against her and kissed her soft and chaste before tickling the hollow of her throat with his mouth. Clarke squirmed under him, fisting the laughable excuse for bed sheets. Bellamy stroked a circular pattern over her hip; his smile was full of more adoration than she felt like she could ever deserve. 

"We don't have a lot of time," he whispered to her, meeting her eyes. She nodded, and he fell to his side to show her the motion he preferred. 

"Are you sure this will work?" she whispered into the dimness once he let go. Bellamy chuckled and flicked a few fingers across the apex of her thighs. “I promise it’ll be fine. You’ll like it.”

  
The trembling from within her seemed to agree with his words. So she did as he’d shown her, trying not to grip too tight. She liked when his head lolled back and his hips moved against her fingers.

“Is this ok?”  
  
"It's very good," he managed.  
  
Soon he was stopping her and settling back over her body. Clarke flushed when his dark eyes drank her in. She focused instead on the bars of the cell. He braced himself up on his forearms, and she took a deep breath. Electricity crackled through her each time her skin met his.

"Bellamy,"  
  
"Yeah?"   
  
The bed creaked as his weight shifted to look into her eyes.   
  
"Make me yours."

***

He pressed into her gently. It wasn’t the intense discomfort she’d anticipated, but there was a grit of her teeth when he met her maidenhood. She gripped his back and her gasps were quickly muffled by kisses she eventually returned. 

"Are you all right?" Bellamy slid strands of blonde hair off her forehead. 

She nodded. She said she'd give this to him, and she would. He'd been alone in this cell for months because of her. Because of what he'd done for her. He’d sacrificed years of his life he couldn’t get back, his reputation as a good and honorable man. Yes he could consume her, and she would welcome it. 

He withdrew and she felt relief. Clarke breathed in a lungful of air. Bellamy was trembling almost imperceptibly, and sweat formed at his dark hairline. "One more time," he warned her before a solid thrust had them completely joined. Clarke nearly cried out but stopped at the last moment, remembering where they were.   
  
"Perfect, Clarke.”  
  
The praise washed over her like a balm. Somehow she ached to be closer, and his hands lightly stroked her skin, seeming to know what would soothe her. He helped her find a rise-and-fall pattern that sparked a tingling across her body. She reached up to kiss Bellamy's jaw, enjoying the growls coming from his throat.

She saw the clench of his jaw bit her lip at the restraint she knew he was demonstrating.

“It’s ok. I trust you,” she murmured.

His eyes were wide and deep brown for a moment, and then he kissed her again, and she felt a pulsing rising in her when his fingers slipped between their bodies. She hummed her thanks. When the sensation overtook her, she trembled, wrapping her hand around Bellamy’s waist as he increased his speed and flooded her with warmth.

  
With a heavy sigh, Bellamy drew away, resting with his back to the wall and pulling her back to his chest. Together their breathing quieted and their heartbeats synchronized.

  
Bellamy kissed her blonde head. "You think you can get used to that when we're married?"   
  
Clarke latched the fingers of her left hand with his and drew them over her stomach. "I think so. It wasn’t so very horrible."   
  
His rich laughter sang through her too.   
  
Clarke clung to Bellamy for an extra few seconds when they parted, breathing him in and giving him the brief moments of comfort she knew he craved as he ran his large hands up and down her back. Nathan led her toward the bright light of the front lobby. She refused to meet the guard’s eyes. The jeers of the other prisoners rang out as she passed.

  
Three months later Bellamy Blake married Clarke Griffin with the sweep of the Ozarks in the background and several eagles soaring overhead. The past didn't matter anymore. They'd broken through to their future, and they'd spend it working hard together where the old world met the new.


End file.
